


An Arrow to the Heart

by JinxedAmbitions



Series: When Paths Converge [2]
Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Angst, Explicit Sexual Content, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-08
Updated: 2020-01-07
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:27:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22167841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JinxedAmbitions/pseuds/JinxedAmbitions
Summary: Geralt and Jaskier's paths cross once again; however, before they can fully regale each other of their latest adventures, they are attacked.  Jaskier is left clinging to life after he is struck by a poison-tipped arrow. While Geralt works to save him, Jaskier has an adventure of his own through his subconscious and the desires the lie within.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: When Paths Converge [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1590289
Comments: 22
Kudos: 365





	An Arrow to the Heart

The sky was a serene sort of blue that warned of nothing but clear skies for the foreseeable future. Jaskier supposed that should have been a comfort as he would be walking for the foreseeable future, and the only thing worse than walking for days in less than comfortable footwear would be to do so as it rained.

Jaskier’s feet were quite possibly killing him as he shuffled for the third day straight, away from a village in the north more than toward any specific place. He’d go where the road took him, so long as it took him away from the angry hoard of husbands ready and willing to remove certain vital pieces of his anatomy.

With nothing else to distract him from the plight that had befallen him, Jaskier began to hum the tune of the latest ballad he’d been working on...right before the lovely lady’s husband arrived home. “Her bewitching eyes…” Jaskier frowned. It was a little difficult to feel inspiration when wounds inflicted by that inspiration were still quite fresh.

“Perhaps another song about Geralt. It’s been a while since I’ve composed an ode to his conquests,” Jaskier muttered to himself. 

Jaskier was just hammering out the perfect tune when he heard the unmistakable plod of a horse’s hooves. The hair rose on the back of his neck as he whirled around, half expecting to find the lovely laundress’ husband coming for him.

Instead, none other than White Wolf himself was slowly approaching. Jaskier ignored the deep sigh that seemed to deflate Geralt. A grin spread across his own face as he turned and walked toward Geralt and Roach, cutting the distance more quickly.

“Geralt! How fortuitous that destiny should bring us back together on this long road of life,” Jaskier greeted, waving up at Geralt as they grew closer.

Geralt grunted, but Jaskier was hardly deterred. Any sort of response from Geralt—that wasn’t undeniably hostile or violent—might as well have been a hug. Jaskier would teach him the ways of social nuance yet, but today he would settle for a grunt. 

“It is always nice to see a friendly face, isn’t it?”

“What are you doing out here, Jaskier?” Geralt asked, not bothering to slow Roach’s pace, thus forcing Jaskier to keep up.

“Funny you should ask. A terrible thing befell me in a village three days’ walk from here.”

“Where did you hide your sausage this time?”

“My sausage was not hiding—” Jaskier retorted in indignation.

“Perhaps it should have been then, in your own pants.”

If Jaskier wasn’t mistaken, he detected a note of amusement in Geralt’s tone. Though, it could’ve been indigestion or something else just as easily.

“Geralt, I cannot help it if fair maiden’s fall for me like the steady rain. I am powerless to control this magnetism.” Jaskier gestured to himself.

Geralt gave him a look that probably meant he was growing tired of this story, but Jaskier chose to ignore it. 

“Anyway, the fair laundress hypnotized me with her enchanting eyes, and I was powerless to do anything but make love to her...until her husband arrived home…”

“ _ Jaskier _ .”

Geralt managed to inject so much exasperation into his name that it was frankly impressive, but Jaskier knew that exasperation implied some level of affection, and so he continued without pausing.

“They tried to hang me, Geralt! Hang.  _ Me _ ! It is unjust.”

“Yet, here you are.” Geralt reined Roach in, allowing Jaskier to finally rest his aching feet if only for a moment. 

“I am a brilliant tactician as you know…”

“How did you wiggle free of your fate, Jaskier?” Geralt sounded genuinely interested now.

Jaskier cleared his throat. “As they walked me to the gallows, I may have shouted that a kikimore was attacking the village.”

“A kikimore?”

“Yes.”

“You know that they live in swamps.” It wasn’t a question which was actually quite flattering, especially when Jaskier hadn’t really been thinking about it as he screamed at the villagers to take cover.

“Well, yes, but they were too distracted by my very convincing fear that they did not stop to think about how very unlikely such a creature suddenly attacking their very landlocked and mountainous village would be, and I was able to escape.” Jaskier smiled up at Geralt. 

Perhaps he had omitted the fact that the villagers hadn’t fallen for the poorly thought out ruse. Jaskier couldn’t be held responsible for choosing the wrong monster when death was on the line. He also couldn’t be held responsible for telling the villagers that he was under the protection of Geralt of Rivia, the Butcher of Blaviken, and that if they harmed a hair on his head, chest, or any other part of him they would have to answer to the White Wolf. Geralt didn’t need to know that part. What was one tiny village in the middle of nowhere fearing his retribution? It was inconsequential.

“And they just let you escape?” Geralt’s skepticism was warranted even if it was annoying.

“Yes?”

“Hmm.”

“What is that for?” Jaskier asked, watching Geralt swing his leg over Roach’s back and dismount.

“I stopped in a village half a day’s ride from here, and as I rode through everyone cleared the streets. When I entered the tavern, they begged me not to kill them. Told me that they hadn’t known that the annoying little bard was under my protection, or they never would have touched him. They paid me to leave without hurting anyone. Threw any coin they had at my feet. You wouldn’t know anything about that would you?”

“Half a day’s ride? Geralt, I’ve been walking for  _ three  _ days straight. Certainly, it was much farther than that!” Jaskier cried, before closing his mouth with a snap. “I mean, no, I do not know of what you speak.”

“ _ Jaskier _ .”

There it was again. 

“They were going to hang me, Geralt. What was I supposed to do?”

Geralt sighed.

“And it serves them right that you showed up not three days later. One might say it was destiny.”

“Don’t speak to me of destiny, Jaskier.”

“What would you call it that we just happened to cross paths when I need you most?”

“You needed my reputation, not me. And I would call it unfortunate.”

Jaskier did his best to act offended as he clutched his chest. “Your misjudgment of the circumstance aside, are you planning to stretch your legs for a bit, because my feet are killing me, and riding for a bit would be wondrous…”

Geralt glared at him, but he pulled Roach off the trail toward a thicket of trees. “Night is closing in. We should stop before we reach the swamps.”

“Swamps?” Jaskier swallowed thickly. Swamps were not his favorite. Swamp jobs were the ones where he would wait back at the village and let Geralt handle things on his own. Nothing good ever happened in a swamp, and they wreaked havoc on his clothing. Jaskier had zero desire to wander the countryside covered in a layer of monster guts and the stench that followed the way that Geralt often did. “Yes, I agree. Best to stop for the evening, catch up with your best friend.”

Geralt’s snort was uncalled for, but Jaskier was willing to forgive him if he’d be providing dinner for the evening because Jaskier hadn’t eaten much more than berries for the last three days. There had been an unfortunate hare the first night, but it had probably been easy to catch because it also hadn’t eaten in a long while. 

“Gather some wood for a fire.”

Geralt didn’t say anything else as he found a place for Roach to graze and hitched her to a fallen tree. Then he disappeared into the forest, presumably to hunt for dinner, but Geralt was sneaky sometimes. He might circle back to make sure they weren’t followed. Other times he’d go out looking for beasts just waiting to feast on them once the sun went down. And on one glorious occasion, he found a nearby spring, and they’d gotten to sleep without the stench of travel for one glorious evening. 

Jaskier gathered small twigs and larger ones and set about making a fire. He’d gotten fairly good at this after Geralt had begrudgingly taught him how after several failed attempts on previous journeys. Now, Jaskier could usually have a fire going by the time Geralt returned with dinner. Sometimes, Jaskier thought that Geralt stayed away until he knew Jaskier had succeeded in his task, but he’d never mention to Geralt that he was on to him. Both of their pride could do without opening that jar of secrets.

“Is there something wrong with the stick?” Geralt’s voice rumbled from the treeline. 

Jaskier looked up from the task that had had his complete focus to see Geralt carrying several hares. It looked like no feelings were to be spared this evening. 

“No, no. I was just concentrating.”

“Yet, still no fire.”

Jaskier huffed before trying to light the small bit of grass he would use to start the fire. Geralt didn’t offer help, instead beginning the task of preparing the rabbits for the fire that Jaskier  _ would  _ light.

“So, what has you out here, Geralt?” Jaskier asked as he worked. 

“Nothing in particular.”

“Surely something made you travel out here. It isn’t exactly near much of anything.”

“Generally, those are the sorts of places monsters prefer.”

“ _ True _ , so are you seeking out a vile creature feeding on the blood of innocent women and children?” Jaskier asked hopefully. That would certainly make for a good song.

Geralt’s grunt was unhelpful, but Jaskier would not be deterred. As such, he kept up a rather one-sided conversation as he prepared the fire and even through Geralt cooking the rabbits to perfection. 

Jaskier had quieted down as he eagerly ate his first real meal in days. Had he been able to swallow and speak at the same time he would have, but he had yet to develop that skill. 

“You should learn how to defend yourself,” Geralt’s voice broke the silence.

Jaskier choked on his food, shocked that Geralt would interrupt his precious silence. “I should what, now?”

“You should learn to fight. You incite enough men to wish you harm that you should know how to defend yourself,” Geralt said like it was completely reasonable that Jaskier would fight men the way Geralt fought monsters. 

“But I have you. My best friend, who would never let any harm come to me, and who would avenge me were harm to ever befall me when you were unable to save me.” 

“You should learn to fight.”

“Geralt, I am a lover…”

“Just as likely to be a dead one if you happen upon one of the men you’ve cuckolded in your travels.”

“That doesn’t seem very likely,” Jaskier said, pointing at Geralt with the hind leg of the hare he was currently feasting on.

Geralt raised his eyebrow. “I tell myself that every time I see you on the road ahead.”

“Ah but dest—”

“Are you willing to take that chance, bard?”

Jaskier’s mouth snapped shut, and his appetite fled him for a moment until he looked back down at the juicy meat he was holding. “Fine, perhaps I could learn a thing or two. However, my strengths lie more in deception and...distraction.”

Geralt grunted, and Jaskier took it as agreement. He didn’t say anything else as they began to eat again, and Jaskier easily went back to apprising Geralt of his latest adventures.

“She was beautiful, I tell you. And she was a widow which should be much less dangerous for me. Unfortunately, she may have made herself a widow, and then she may have tried to kill me in my sleep, but the time he had was glorious, Geralt,” Jaskier said, kicking his feet up on a fallen branch and warming them near the fire.

“Why don’t you ever fall for nice women, Jaskier?” Geralt asked, throwing away the last bone of the hare and rising from his seat on the ground.

“I do fall for nice ladies, Geralt. It’s the nice ones’ husbands I have to worry about.”

Geralt grunted, but to Jaskier’s trained ear it was an amused grunt. 

“What of you, Geralt? What adventures have you survived since we last crossed paths?” Jaskier asked, leaning over to give Geralt a playful shove.

“Nothing so perilous as escaping scorned lovers and bloodthirsty mistresses.” Geralt stretched beside the fire, warming himself like a cat at the hearth. 

Jaskier watched him with keen eyes, catching the way his old armor could barely contain him. He also didn’t miss the way Geralt’s eyes caught the firelight and seemed to almost glow themselves.

“Surely, something has tried to kill you these last months,” Jaskier insisted, though he was quite distracted by now.

“Hmm.” 

Geralt’s eyes began to droop as though he were going to fall asleep right there, and Jaskier didn’t bother to hide his smile. It was nice to sit in quiet companionship. He’d missed the Witcher since they’d last parted ways, and even just to see him for an evening brought with it a warmth that not even the fire could produce.

“I suppose even a Witcher needs a break,” Jaskier mused, reaching for his lute. He played quietly, humming along while Geralt rested his eyes. He didn’t try to hide the fact that he openly watched Geralt as he rested. The man was a sight to behold, and Jaskier found himself memorizing the small details that changed about him each time their paths crossed. New scars, the length of his hair, the way his grunts mapped his mood. No one had ever fascinated Jaskier the way that Geralt did. Jaskier glancing at him across the fire stirred inspiration in him that drove his fingers to play more and more elaborate melodies—an ode to the man's brilliance.

Jaskier’s own eyes were beginning to betray him when Geralt stirred again. He sat up without a word as Jaskier carefully put his lute aside, ready to prepare himself for sleep. 

Geralt didn’t say anything as he walked over to Roach and retrieved his pack. 

“Here, take this sword,” Geralt said, removing the silver blade from his pack.

“A sword? No, Geralt. It is late, and anyway I was thinking more hand to hand combat. I don’t think—”

“If anyone gets within arms’ distance of you, they will have you skewered like that rabbit before you can raise your fists.”

“Now, I don’t think—” Jaskier gulped as Geralt brought his blade to his gut in the blink of an eye, toying with the first button holding Jaskier’s trousers up. A sharp awareness shot through Jaskier as he watched the blade dance just in front of him. “Geralt, please remove your sword from there unless you plan an entirely different sort of sword action for the evening.”

Geralt brought the blade up swinging it to be able to offer Jaskier the grip. Jaskier swallowed thickly as he reached out and took hold of the sword.

“Like this.” Geralt immediately showed him how to hold the sword properly.

When Geralt released the blade completely, Jaskier almost dropped it as the weight suddenly became apparent. “How do you fight with this?” Jaskier demanded bringing the blade down to rest on the ground because his arm ached holding it up. Three days without proper food had left him weakened. Certainly, that was the most likely explanation.

Geralt sighed then gripped Jaskier’s hand and brought it back up, sword and all. He stepped behind Jaskier, bringing his arms around his frame to help him hold the blade.

“Maybe if we try your other sword.”

“This is the lighter of the two.” There was definitely amusement in his tone which Jaskier wasn’t sure that he appreciated.

“Are you certain? Perhaps you are just unaware of their weight because of your unnaturally large...muscles.”

“Silver is light, but you are welcome to try to lift the other.”

“Geralt, are you laughing at me? I am  _ not  _ weak. I hold a lute aloft for hours as I play, and I sing as well. One cannot simply sing for hours without endurance.”

“I am aware of the endurance of your vocal chords, Jaskier. My ears are particularly acquainted with their endurance.”

Jaskier brought his boot down on the instep of Geralt’s foot, jamming the heel into it as he proclaimed, “oops, clumsy me.” He pushed free of Geralt’s arms as Geralt grunted in pain or surprise or both, and Jaskier whirled around, using all of his strength to bring the blade up to Geralt’s throat...where Geralt’s other sword was waiting to block the attack.

“How? Where?” Jaskier muttered, staring at Geralt with open mouth as his blade rested against the flat of Geralt’s.

“Not bad. Might even save your skin from a clumsy cuckold.”

Jaskier couldn’t help but preen at the meager compliment. “I told you that deception and distraction were my—” Jaskier yelped as Geralt pushed him away with his sword then took a swing at him. Jaskier brought his own blade up to block it by sheer instinct, and the blades clashed together once again. Though it was very clear that Geralt was holding back.

“Keep your eyes open,” Geralt critiqued as Jaskier kept his eyes screwed tightly shut and took a steadying breath.

“I do not like this, Geralt.” Jaskier opened his eyes and watched as Geralt came at him again. This time Jaskier did not move to block him, knowing in his heart that Geralt would not kill him simply to prove a point. 

Geralt brought his sword to a stop right beside Jaskier’s neck, but he didn’t so much as nick him. “Bring your blade up,” Geralt commanded.

“I prefer it at my sides. Seems safer down here, and my arms ache less…”

Geralt grunted, bringing his own sword down then driving the hilt into Jaskier’s gut. It wasn’t a hard blow, but Jaskier had not been prepared for it. He fell onto his ass releasing his sword. 

Jaskier looked up from the ground at Geralt who stood looming over him holding both swords. 

“Right, I get it. I am likely to die any moment now because I am frightfully incapable of defending myself. It’s a miracle I haven’t been killed yet,” Jaskier bemoaned as he brushed dirt off his clothes and pushed himself to his feet. 

“Like I said. You are not so bad,” Geralt said, holding out the silver blade again.

“Then why do you humiliate me so?” Jaskier asked skeptically, eying the blade like it might bite him.

“You will learn nothing if I gently show you how to swing a blade. You are better off relying on instinct. It will keep you alive longer than formal training.”

Jaskier frowned. “Then why teach me anything at all?”

“There is a difference between being familiar with a weapon if not formally trained and never having touched one in your life.”

“I’ve touched a sword before!” Jaskier insisted. 

“Hold it up.”

Jaskier sighed but brought the blade up, just as he did so, he heard a whistle cut through the air. 

“Jaskier, down,” Geralt shouted, shoving Jaskier to the ground.

Jaskier grunted as he collided with the dirt at the same time he heard Geralt’s sword connect with something. He rolled onto his back as another whistle pierced the air, and he watched with wide eyes as Geralt deflected an arrow with his blade.

“Please tell me that this is part of your training,” Jaskier said, gripping Geralt’s silver sword despite knowing he had no hope of cutting anything out of the air.

“Take cover,” Geralt ordered, bringing his hand up in a three-fingered symbol Jaskier had only seen him use once before and sending a shockwave out in front of them. “Run, now,” Geralt shouted when Jaskier didn’t immediately follow his direction.

Jaskier jumped up and bolted away from the camp toward the dark of the forest. He heard another arrow whisper through the air before embedding itself in a nearby tree.

“Fuck,” Jaskier cursed as he stumbled through the trees, trying to keep himself low to the ground. He wasn’t sure if he should run or hide. He couldn’t tell if they were being attacked by many bandits or one man with a crossbow. 

He heard Geralt grunt before the clash of metal filled the air, and Jaskier stopped to look back. He ducked low in the underbrush and peered back to see Geralt engaging a man with a sword. They parried back and forth, and Jaskier could tell the man was skilled.

“Come on, Geralt,” he muttered, continuing to watch instead of fleeing like would probably have been prudent. 

Geralt pushed the man back with brute strength, but the man wasn’t easily brought down. He fought back, swinging his blade with speed that rivaled Geralt’s.

Jaskier bit his lip as he watched them fight, cringing as the other man’s blade sliced across Geralt’s thigh before Geralt could get his blade up in time. Geralt did not seem terribly fazed by the wound, and he quickly delivered a blow of his own, sending the man stumbling back clutching his arm.

They exchanged words, but Jaskier couldn’t tell what it was they were saying. However, he could tell that Geralt was furious as he brought his blade down in a forceful arc, nearly bringing the man to the ground with the force of it alone. 

“That’s it, Geralt. Teach him not to tangle with the White Wolf,” Jaskier said to himself as he watched Geralt continue to dominate the other man.

The pair moved closer to the fire Jaskier had made, and Jaskier got a better look at the man Geralt was fighting. The man’s lightweight armor struck him as familiar. Jaskier wracked his brain for where he’d seen that armor before. However, before he could work it out, the man fell to the ground, grasped a handful of ash from the fire and threw it into Geralt’s eyes.

“Geralt, no. Watch out!” Jaskier cried, breaking through the underbrush and completely forgetting about his own safety.

Jaskier’s cry drew the assassin’s attention away from Geralt for just a moment, but it was enough time for Geralt to bring his sword around and separate his head from his body. It would have been sickening if Jaskier wasn’t so relieved that Geralt was alright.

“Jaskier, run.” Geralt shouted even as Jaskier stood there in relief.

“Oh thank God! You are alright, Geralt,” Jaskier said right before he felt a terrible pain explode through his chest. “Fuck?” he gasped, looking down to see an arrow protruding from the area where his shoulder met his chest.

Geralt sprinted for him even as Jaskier swayed on his feet. Something in him reminded him that he should take cover, but he simply couldn’t move.

“They shot me,” Jaskier said as Geralt reached him, practically carrying him into the cover of the woods. “Geralt, they shot me!”

“Well, you were standing out in the open demanding their attention.”

“To distract that man from killing you!”

“Hmm.”

“Don’t ‘hmm’ me. I just saved your life, and look where it has gotten me.” Jaskier looked down at himself again, cringing at the way the blood was spreading over his doublet.

“Perhaps if you were not so skilled in distraction.”

“You bastard.”

“Stay out of sight,” Geralt warned him, propping him against the base of a tree.

“They…”

“Don’t touch the wound. Stay awake until I return.” Geralt’s voice was firm, leaving no room for argument. 

“An arrow!” Jaskier gasped, clutching Geralt’s forearm as Geralt attempted to rise.

“Stay out of sight, and for once stay quiet,” Geralt said with far too much fondness in his voice.

“I am going to die.”

“Stay here.” With that, Geralt disappeared into the dark forest, leaving Jaskier alone to bleed.

“Stay here. Where does he think I will go with an arrow…oh dear.” A wave of dizziness hit Jaskier. He blinked to try to clear his vision and his mind, but the world seemed to dip and bend before his eyes. “I’m going to die.” The last thing Jaskier saw before darkness took him was the blood covering his chest and arm. 


End file.
